


Love Is A Battlefield

by katiebour



Series: Love is a Battlefield [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Hate Sex, M/M, Magic, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty Fenders.  PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, someone on the k!meme wanted Merrill and Isabela RPing Fenders. Someone else filled the RP and the commenters requested actual Fenders happening in the same way the RP did.
> 
> Recursion much? XD
> 
> But it was a good distraction from my hated math, and thus we have smutty Fenders. XD

Anders glared at the elf standing across from him in the deserted clinic- he'd just finished healing the ungrateful bastard of yet another battle injury, yet here he stood, insulting the very magic that kept him whole.

"How can you believe that mages should be locked up when you yourself reap the benefits of magic  _serving_  man?"

The elf glared back. "A thousand such healings could not make up for what I've suffered at the hands of mages, and one day, when you turn on all of us, know that I stand ready to cut you down."

"I'd like to see you try," Anders said, challengingly.

"Do not tempt me, Abomination," Fenris answered with a hint of a growl, taking one step forward, and then another-

Anders threw out a hand, and with a single snapped word and furrowed brow encased the elf in a column of ice. He'd let him out, in a moment-

As the spell solidified, the elf snarled in fury, gauntlet phasing white-hot, the ice cracking and shattering before it ever truly set. The lines of lyrium glowed obscenely hot as the elf stepped forward.

"You  _dare_ -" he hissed, eyes filled with fury, hand going behind him to unhook his sword from its baldric. Anders watched complacently.

"Little elves shouldn't play with such big toys," he grinned, and with another quickly snapped word the sword began to glow with heat.

Fenris yelped, dropping the sword, and then, as the glow began to spread outward, hastily unbuckled the gauntlets, fingers moving quickly to the rapidly heating buckles that held his breastplate.

Anders furrowed his brow- not  _too_  hot- he didn't want to have to treat further injuries tonight, just enough to show the elf that one did not  _toy_  with a mage-

Divested of all things metal, Anders had a single second before the enraged elf was on him, bearing him to the floor. "You forget yourself, mage- magic has made a weapon of my very flesh, and  _that_  you cannot burn out of me."

When Fenris activated the lines of lyrium, Anders gasped at the indescribably delicious sensation, the tug and pull of the Fade whispering along his skin, caressing that place in his mind where he channeled Fade energies, that seat of emotions where he and Justice had an uneasy truce. Justice _whined_  at the back of his mind, overtaken by the sensation, Anders gritting his teeth against the caress that made him writhe coupled with the suddenly  _invasive_  not-quite-pressure as the elf phased a hand in his chest, ghostly fingers not-quite touching organs that normally only felt the flow of Creation magic.

The elf stilled suddenly. "You're  _enjoying_  this," he hissed disbelievingly, and with the elf pressed up against a certain damning evidence, Anders was incapable of denying it.

"Having a scantily-clad elf push me down and have his magical way with me? What's not to-" he hissed as the ghostly fingers threaded through the muscle of his heart, spasming in a shock that was almost pain. "Kill me and you'll answer to Hawke for the loss of his favorite healer," he reminded Fenris, something reckless in him almost beyond caring.

The elf snarled in frustration, and the ghostly hand was suddenly, quickly removed. No sooner had the threat been resolved then the elf found a hand in his hair, pulling him down and then his eyes went wide in shock as the mage started  _kissing_  him. He tried to pull away weakly, but the mage was stronger than he looked, and when the human rolled them over, Fenris suddenly found himself on his back, underneath a very insistent, very skilled man whose lips and tongue were making him forget why he was trying to struggle-

When one hand smoothed up the side of a pointed elvhen ear, it was all Fenris could do not to whimper in submission, hips bucking in response, his own answering hardness not hidden in the least by the thin cloth of his leggings.

"Never- taunt- a mage-," Anders gasped when they came up for air, undoing the buckles on his coat and pulling off the smock underneath with a speed borne of desperation.

Fenris suddenly found his hands full of warm, bare skin, the mage's slight form slim but appealing, and if his mind wasn't convinced, well, his body was more than happy to cooperate. 

Torn between whether to push the mage away or pull him closer, Fenris whispered, "I am not-" he groaned when that hot mouth kissed a trail along his throat, yelped when teeth nibbled a tender lobe,  _whined_  when lips soothed where teeth had pressed- "your slave, mage."

He heard a breathless chuckle at his ear. "Perhaps I'm yours, then. 'Magic should serve man,' hmm?"

Fenris felt the last of his will to resist drain away when fingers delicately undid the clasps on his tunic, when lips and tongue trailed a path down his torso, when his leggings were summarily pulled down, baring him for a moment to the cool air before a hot mouth covered him, pulling an unwilling groan from him as talented, velvet lips encircled his cock, mouth pulling away to lap at him before moving back in, and when the mage started  _sucking_ he fisted his hands in blonde hair, lifting his head just enough to watch the flutter of blonde lashes, the warm mouth moving up and down as the mage concentrated.

The mage lifted his head, a knowing smirk on his face, "You're  _enjoying_  this," he mocked gently, tongue reaching down to lap at the velvety soft tip of Fenris' cock. 

" _Tace_ ," the elf gritted out. 

"As you will,  _master_ ," the mage said, grinning, before resuming his attentions.

Fenris bucked into that hot mouth, breath sobbing out, and he was getting close, so close-

Some small part of his mind protested.  _You're doing this, with the Abomination, of all people?_

But when staff-callused fingers caressed his hairless sac, mouth growing more insistent, when a jolt of magical energy flowed through him, setting his nerves on fire, Fenris found all of his objections utterly destroyed as he moaned between clenched teeth,

"Ah, mage, ah-  _malum!_ "

And then he was groaning and spurting his release into the mage's insistent mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand-
> 
> This is what happens when you ask for a change of venue; you start asking yourself questions like “How did they get from the clinic to Fenris’ mansion?” And then PLOT happens, dammit.
> 
> Anyway, mostly PWP. Anders gets his go, as requested by those demanding k!meme commenters. XD
> 
> I love you all :)

Fenris lay on the dirt floor of the clinic for a few moments, waiting until the sparks cleared from his vision and he could move again.  The mage slid sinuously up his body, sliding a greedy hand along lines of lyrium, and although it felt  _good_  Fenris couldn't stop the instinctive snarl of dislike.  They'd been at odds for too long for such an unexpected turn of events to change reactions years in the making.

"Unhand me, mage," he said, pulling to a sitting position, fingers fumbling as he tried to fasten the toggles on his tunic.

Anders sat back and ran a hand through his tousled hair, giving Fenris a disbelieving look.  "You're just going to... continue on as if this hadn't happened?"

"I-" Fenris paused, struck with an odd feeling of... guilt?   _I allowed this, wanted it-_  He looked over at the bare-chested mage sitting across from him, flushed and disheveled, making no effort to hide the impressive swell beneath his thin trousers-  _I enjoyed it._

He focused on the toggles of his tunic, trying without success not to think about the man sitting across from him.

"Was it...that bad?"  Fenris' head whipped up at the mage's disconsolate tone, and the sad look in those brown eyes nearly undid him.

Fenris looked away, at the cots scattered through the room, examined the neatly organized shelves with their stoppered potions-  _anything_  to keep from looking at this man who made him feel more conflicted than any other.

If he'd been any other man- a normal human, organizing on behalf of refugees, or an elf in the Alienage, seeking to better the lives of his people, Fenris could've admired that drive, that compassion; he'd have given respect, possibly love, unreservedly and fought gladly at his side. 

But the mage belonged to and championed a class of people who'd committed the worst atrocities Fenris had ever seen, and in many cases, experienced, and what was  _worse_ , he sought to recreate the land of Fenris' nightmares- a second Imperium, sickness and filth spreading across Thedas until there was no place safe for Fenris to hide from it.  The fool didn't even realize the magnitude of what he was suggesting- bleated ad nauseam about individual rights and freedoms, failing utterly to see the terrifying larger implications of his actions.

But when Fenris looked over, causes and conflicts melted away, and there was only a strong, slender man with a soft, sad look on his face, red-gold hair falling into those amber eyes.

The words stuttered in Fenris' throat, and all he could say, awkwardly, was, "I'm sorry- it's not-" he struggled to articulate, to say  _something_  that would express the true measure of his feelings.  "It was fine," he finished, lamely, pulling himself to his feet.

The hurt that bloomed in those eyes made Fenris want to growl in frustration.

"No," he clarified, "That is- insufficient-"  He picked up his armor and sword, awkwardly, and headed for the door.  "I cannot  _do_  this," he said, furious with himself and the mage.

Feet pounded the floor behind him, one strong hand reaching out to grab his arm.  "You wanted this too, you selfish bastard- you could've stopped me at any point, and you  _let_  me have you.  And now you're just going to leave?"  Anders voice was rough with anger and hurt.

Fenris shrugged off the hand.  "I'm sorry," he gritted out, "This should never have happened in the first place.  Forgive me."

As he walked out the door, he heard the mage yell, "Damned if I will, Fenris!"

****************************************************************

 _Several days later:_

Anders sluiced a dipper of water over his head and body, shivering slightly as the cold, damp Darktown air came into contact with his wet flesh.  Picking up the rough bar of soap he reserved for bathing, he ran it over the back of his neck, down his chest, under his arms where the tufted hair gathered sweat, over the wiry muscles of his arms.  He bent over, running the soap over thighs, knees, calves, and then building up a handful of lather and setting the bar aside, quickly soaped his prick and sac, pulling back the soft skin around the head and washing thoroughly, rubbing lather into red-gold curls.  He rubbed a bit of soap on and between his buttocks- amid Justice's demands and Hawke's 'errands' he didn't get a chance to bathe as often as he liked, but when he did, Anders reveled in the chance to be thoroughly  _clean_  for a change.

He picked up the bar once more and soaped his ragged hair- perhaps he ought to have Isabela cut it, next time, instead of simply taking a knife to it himself.  But there was so little  _time_  for those sorts of things-

 **The length of our hair matters little- we must focus on more important things.**

Anders rolled his eyes as he sluiced water over his body, rinsing the last traces of suds from his body, and grabbing a ragged drying cloth from its accustomed spot, made quick work of drying himself.

"There  _are_  other things besides mages and manifestos," he argued, wryly appreciating for a moment the sheer craziness of arguing with a voice in one's own head.  "Things like kittens and pies and-"  _broody tattooed elves with soft lips, emerald eyes, and fuck-me-now voices._   His external voice trailed off, but the internal voice continued on, heedless of the fact that he didn't want to think about what had, or more accurately, what  _hadn't_ happened days ago.

 _And now I'm thinking about it.  Fuck._

Anders brooded as he pulled on his spare set of clothes.   _He could have stayed, or talked, or we could've moved to the bed, or something.  Whores get more consideration than that._

Instead he'd been left with the taste of the other man in his mouth, the feel of that silken, hairless skin underneath his fingertips, the lyrium markings calling faintly to him, and the memory of a pair of conflicted, guilty,  _beautiful_  emerald eyes.

And then he'd simply walked out, leaving Anders alone, expecting him to simply  _forget_  that it'd ever happened.

The more Anders thought about it, the angrier he got.   _Damned if I'm going to let him get away with it, the brooding prick._   He pulled on his coat, fastening the buckles with a speed borne of long practice, and walking out of the deserted clinic, pulled the door closed behind him.  

Anders began the long climb towards Hightown, determination clear on his face.  He and the elf were going to have a little talk.

  
****************************************************************

Anders stopped outside of Fenris' mansion and paced for a few moments.   _Maker, what am I doing here?_  he thought, biting his bottom lip in trepidation.   _What am I even going to say- "How dare you not fuck me, you heartless bastard?"  "How dare you walk out instead of pretending we haven't been at each other's throats for the past three years?"_

But when that part of him that was Justice suggested strongly that perhaps leaving would be easier, simpler, and then they could get on with more _important_  things-

Anders pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Pulling the door shut behind him, he squinted in the gloom of the dilapidated hall, calling out in as confident a voice as he could muster- "Fenris!"

He walked toward the stairway, skimming a hand unthinkingly over a dusty banister before pulling it back with a grimace, and repeated his call.  "Fenris?"

When the elf stumbled into the doorway clad only in his leggings, hair mussed and eyes half-lidded with sleep, Anders sucked in a breath of appreciation.   _Perhaps I should change that "How dare you not fuck me?" to "Please, fuck me."_

Fenris' eyes widened and within moments he was completely awake, adrenaline surging through him at the sight of the  _last_  person he'd expected to see walking up his steps.

"Mage?" he said, voice gravelly with sleep, a bit of color rising in his face.

Anders grimaced as he continued walking up the stairs.  "I have a name, you know."

"Anders," the elf acknowledged, stepping back on legs growing increasingly weak- the mage smelled like soap, and sunshine, and that bit of musk that made Fenris want to bite and lick and rub himself all over the mage's skin.  "Why are you here?" he asked, bluntly.

"Well,  _Fenris_ ," the mage said, enunciating his name, rolling it around on his tongue like a verbal caress, "I think you owe me an explanation, or an apology, possibly both, and I've come to collect."

"I?  Apologize to you?" Fenris began to glare, both irritated and embarrassed.  The mage was right, of course, although Fenris would never admit it-

"What are you  _doing_ , mage?" he said, as Anders stepped forward, closer, Fenris backing away, until suddenly, his back was against the wall and the mage was leaning in, arms on either side, amber eyes intense with a mix of anger and desire that was making Fenris' knees weak.

Anders leaned in, watching that emerald gaze flick from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes, and said, "I don't think you appreciate me, Fenris.  I heal you, provide you with potions, bring you to heights of pleasure on my clinic floor-" Anders heard the sharp intake of breath as he grazed Fenris' jaw with his lips, breathing upwards as he spoke, until he was whispering in a sensitive elvhen ear, "And then you walk away spouting apologies and excuses."  He nibbled a soft earlobe, slipping a hand behind the elf's bare back to pull their bodies together.  "I think you can do better, hmm?"

Fenris shivered, a low groan pulled unwillingly from him at the soft caress on his ear, the press of the metal rings on the mage's coat a whisper of sensation against his own bare torso- he could simply relax, and let the mage do with him as he pleased-

A surge of fear and anger thrilled through Fenris as his own mind betrayed him.   _Not again, never again_ , he swore, and in one swift movement he grabbed the mage's coat, pushing him away long enough to reverse their positions before slamming Anders punishingly up against the wall.

"How dare you put your hands on me,  _mage_ ," he spat, anger and desire roiling through him.

A muscle worked in Anders throat as the two men stared at each other, gazes intense, a tuft of silver hair falling into emerald eyes.  "How dare I?" Anders replied with a challenging tilt of his chin.  "I  _dared_  to put more than my hands on you two days ago, and you weren't complaining then."

Anders pulled Fenris in for a punishing kiss, lips bruising as recklessly suckled and lapped at a rapidly weakening elf.

*****************************************************************

When a pair of warm hands slipped into his leggings, cupping his buttocks and pulling him against the mage's hard, hot length, Fenris gasped, breaking the kiss.

"I'm not- your plaything, mage," he panted, pulling away.  When the hands receded, released him, Fenris turned, stumbling a few feet away before turning to face the man who was staring at him.

"Maker, Fenris, no one's asking you to be a bloody plaything!  Unless-"  the mage faltered- "You really don't want me here?"

Fenris shook his head in negation.  "It's not that," he ground out.

"Then  _what_ , you Blighted elf?" Anders demanded.

One of Fenris' hands went up to his neck, unconsciously rubbing as if to massage away the ache of a long-absent collar.

"I swore-" he said, voice cracking slightly, "I swore that no mage would ever hold dominion over me again."

"I don't-" Anders began.

"You don't  _understand_ ," Fenris interrupted, eyes erupting with fury.  "You have no idea what it's like to be leashed and collared like a Saarebas, to be at your Master's whim every hour of every day, to be at the will of whoever holds your control rod and to beg like a dog for mercy!"

Anders' mouth was open in a soundless O.

"I  _will not_  put a mage in that position of power again," he finished, closing his eyes as he turned away.

Quiet footfalls sounded behind him, gentle hands smoothing down his shoulders.

"Fenris," Anders said, softly, hands pulling insistently until the elf was facing him.  "I'm not asking you to be my plaything or my slave."  He laughed, quietly.  "If anything, it's the other way around."

A hand tilted Fenris' jaw up, soft lips brushed a kiss over his in a way that made him shiver with longing.  "I am yours," Anders whispered in the quiet.  "Do with me as you will."

Fenris growled low in his throat, a frisson of heat moving through him at the thought of the mage under him, moaning, writhing,  _begging_  him-

"Think twice before you make such an offer, mage," he said, the promise and threat in his voice uncurling a fist of heat in Anders.  "You'll get no mercy from me."

Anders bit off a moan before it could become  _Maker, yes, please_ , and managed to answer, "I'm not asking for mercy, am I?"

"You will," came the heated reply, and then the elf was on him like a flash, mouth hot and demanding, hands gripping and pushing him towards the bed, and when Anders heard a  _rip_  as the elf tore one of the buckles loose from his coat, he let out a small sound of protest that was swiftly and completely ignored.

Anders found himself quickly and mercilessly divested of coat, shirt, and boots, and when the backs of his knees butted up against the bed he sat, suddenly, with a lap full of insistent elf kissing and caressing and driving all sense from him.

When a lyrium-lined hand fumbled with his breeches before shoving them down, taking him in hand and beginning to pump his cock with a pace and pressure that had Anders bucking underneath him, whispering promises and curses and  _Maker_ , if the elf stopped he'd kill him-

And then the elf  _stopped_ , and Anders realized he'd gasped the last bit aloud.

Anders whimpered before he could stop himself.  "I hate you," he whispered into the silence, broken only by the sound of their rapid breathing. 

"I'm sure-" the elf rumbled, right before he  _bit_  Anders, hard, on the shoulder- "you do."

The hand moved down to cup Anders' balls before tugging teasingly on the curling red-gold hairs, thumb moving up to smooth the drop of moisture over the head of Anders' prick, making him gasp and thrust against that hand, against the elf who held him down, easily frustrating his attempts to find more friction, something,  _anything_ -

"Vile torturer," he hissed, as the elf pinched a nipple between his fingers before moving to thread his hand through the sprinkling of red-gold hair on Anders' chest.

Fenris moved to stand beside the bed, pulling off Anders' trousers and smalls in one quick movement before removing his own leggings, and whatever other curses Anders had in mind vanished.

*****************************************************************

The elf was fucking  _gorgeous_ , from head to toe, and when he knelt back on the bed, eyes on Anders' cock, the mage swallowed, hard.  

Then that hot mouth was on him, and Maker, he was  _rough_ \- more than once, Anders winced at the slight scrape of teeth, the tiny bit of pain coupled with intense pleasure driving him closer and closer.  

He bucked into Fenris' mouth, and felt the elf's body stiffen as he choked, mouth pulling off of the head of his cock.

"I'm sorry-" Anders said desperately, "Please, fuck me, fuck me, fuckmefuckme-" he begged it over and over, nearly a chant, until a hand closed around him, squeezing, and Anders fell silent.

He looked over at emerald eyes watching him, alight with lust and victory, weighing-

"I have nothing with which to prepare you," he said, at last.

Anders could have cried with relief.  "Coat pocket," he said in a strained voice, and despite his desperation grinned as the elf's eyebrows rose.

The beautiful  _bastard_  of an elf moved languidly to pick up Anders' coat from the floor- a few moments of searching and he closed his hand around a small vial of oil.

Uncorking it, he walked back to the bed, a knowing look on his face that had Anders flushing.

"One might almost suspect that you  _planned_  this, mage," he said, mildly, even tone belying the smirk on his face.

" _Plan_  is such a weighted word," Anders replied, "More like  _hoped_ , actually-"

And then the elf was smoothing an oil-slicked hand over Anders' cock, making the mage groan at the smooth, hot pressure.  When oil-slicked fingers moved to that soft pucker of muscle, one finger sliding in slowly, almost curiously, the elf's gaze never leaving Anders' face as he closed his eyes, head falling back as he gave himself up to the sensation.

Anders relaxed as the elf moved his finger gently, slowly, and when a second joined the first, he moaned, pushing back against those teasing fingers.

"Please," he whimpered, "please."

Fenris shifted, withdrawing his fingers, and when a smooth, slick hardness pressed up against him, he pushed back, greedily.

They moved together in a slow series of rocking motions, Fenris easing deeper with quiet, gasping breaths, low, rough sounds pulled from him as he seated himself more deeply inside.

When the elf was buried to the hilt he paused, hooking an arm around Anders' thighs, nearly bending the mage double as he leaned, burying his head into the crook of the mage's neck and thrusting, harder, faster-

Anders wrapped his arms around the elf's back, pulling him closer, feeling the delicious friction as their bodies moved together.  His chest and face flushed as he watched Fenris move above him, felt him, inside, that delicious sensation of being filled, over and over, pulling him closer, closer-

The elf was thrusting harder, deeper, pace becoming erratic as his breathing and low, intermittent cries of pleasure came faster-

" _Fenris_ -" Anders managed before he spilled between them, back arching as he cried out his release, Fenris pausing for a bare second before thrusting deeply into that spasming heat, his entire body going rigid before he let go, ragged cries filling the air as he trembled in the mage's arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back once more by popular demand- Maker have mercy! These keep getting longer and longer XD
> 
> So-
> 
> Um yay, smutty Fenders? :D

Fenris grimaced as he pushed the door to Hawke's mansion wide open.  Would the man never learn to lock up a houseful of valuables, not to mention the dangerous and volatile materials he gave to the odd little dwarf like so many sweetmeats?

"Hawke?" he called into the dark, cool interior of the house.

"Coming, ser," came a familiar voice, and within moments Orana popped into view, cloak on her shoulder and basket on her arm.

"Oh, Master Fenris!" she said with a breathy smile.  " _Salvē!  Quid agis hodie?_ "

" _Bene_ ," he acknowledged gruffly, unwilling to admit that some small part of him thrilled at hearing his mother tongue after so long.  "Is Hawke available?" he asked, switching to Common.

"He is not,  _domne_ ," she replied, oblivious to his slight wince at the title.  "Master Hawke has gone to the barracks with Lady Aveline and Rand to train the recruits.  Is there aught I can do to be of service?"

"No," Fenris replied, "I must speak with Hawke privately."

Orana inclined her head in acknowledgement, and for a moment they stood, awkwardly.

"I was headed to the market," Orana said, "but if you wish I can ready some tea-"

Fenris shook his head.  "I would prefer to wait."

The little servant bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable with leaving a guest  _alone_  in her master's house, but after a moment she nodded, acquiescing.

"As you wish,  _domne_."

The little servant stepped out the front door, closing it behind her, leaving Fenris to pace uncomfortably in the entryway.

He had just about decided to go- he'd ask for Hawke's assistance in locating his sister another day- when he heard the sound of boots approaching the front steps.  A hand rapped smartly on the door.

Fenris paused.  He couldn't very well answer Hawke's  _door_  for him-

The knock sounded again, and through the thick wooden door Fenris heard the timbre of a familiar voice, muttering something under his breath.  Fenris stilled, not sure whether to answer the door, or flee, or remain absolutely still- he had yet to decide how to handle his relationship with the apostate-

And then the doorhandle turned, that voice in its clipped accent muttering "-needs to learn to lock his door, the idiot-"

And then Fenris found himself face-to-face with a surprised Anders, who started unconsciously at the sight of the elf.

****************************************************************

"Fenris," he said, eyes wide with surprise, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I came to ask Hawke's assistance," Fenris replied, unable to stop himself from relishing the sight of the disheveled apostate, those warm brown eyes, that full lower lip that gave the man the appearance of a constant pout even when he was smiling-

Fenris resisted the urge to push the apostate up against the wall and suck on that pouty lower lip.

Anders grinned, suddenly, and Fenris' breath caught.

"Are you making the  _puppy eyes_  at me?" he crowed, and Fenris glared.  He'd endured enough of the Dalish witch's comments on the subject.

"There  _are_  no puppy eyes," he said firmly.

"From where I'm standing there are  _definitely_  puppy eyes," Anders grinned, unrepentant.  "And by their sudden appearance-" he began to move into the elf's personal space, "I'd wager a guess that you've missed me."

Fenris held his ground- he would not allow the mage to back him into a wall  _again_  (although the memory of what had happened the last time nearly made his eyes cross with lust).  "Don't press your luck, mage."

Anders moved in and tipped Fenris's mouth towards his with one hand; he held a sheaf of bundled papers in the other.  "That's starting to sound like an endearment, coming from you," he purred, and bent down to brush his lips softly, once, over Fenris' mouth.

*****************************************************************

When Anders began to pull back from the light press of lips, gauntlets fisted in his coat jerked him closer, and when the elf deepened the kiss, sucking and lapping at his lower lip, that hot mouth greedily devouring him, Anders found the copy of his manifesto dropping from nerveless fingers onto the floor, and he didn't care, because he was wrapping his arms around the elf, pulling him closer.

When they broke the kiss, finally, Anders pressed his forehead against the elf's, and in the wake of their mingled breathing he confessed, softly, "I've missed you."

"I have been thinking of you," Fenris admitted.  "In fact, I've been able to think of little else."

"Well, that last time  _was_  rather brilliant," Anders said flippantly, straightening up and edging away from emotional territory with which neither of them were particularly comfortable.  "What was it, four times in a row?"

A pinkish flush crept over Fenris' cheekbones.  "Careful with that glib tongue, mage, or I'll turn you over my knee again."

A similar flush crept up Anders' neck.  He pushed down the whining  _Yes, please?_  that threatened to escape, answering instead with a cheekier, less needy "Promise?" 

"Did you come here for a  _reason_?" Fenris asked, pointedly ignoring the open invitation on the mage's face.

"Ah-" Anders blinked, then looked down to see his manifesto scattered all over the floor.  "Andraste's bloody pyre," he sighed, bending down to pick up the pages.

Fenris bent down to help him pick up the papers.  "What is this?" he asked, stacking them haphazardly.

"You can read it, if you like," Anders replied, "Although on second thought, I can't imagine you'd approve."

Fenris quirked an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

"It's something Hawke suggested," Anders replied.  "I've been trying to write down my arguments," he explained, "To convince people that the Circle is abusive and unjust."

Fenris stilled, eyebrows furrowing in dislike.  "And what do you know of abuse, mage?" he answered caustically.  "From all that you've said, your Ferelden Circle treated you with far greater kindness than any slave would receive at the hands of a magister."

Anders rounded on him.  "Really?  And what would you know about the 'kindnesses' of the Circle?"

"You were fed, clothed, cared for, instructed, and given a measure of freedom to do as you chose within those walls.  Do not discount such things as trivial, mage," Fenris replied, attempting to keep his voice civil.

"Oh, yes," Anders said, "And if the Templars were to beat you, or rape you, or lock you away for reasons real or imaginary, that's simply to be expected, since the gilding on your cage is so pleasant?"

"Do not suppose that you're the only being who has ever seen or experienced such things," Fenris answered, anger creeping into his voice.

"They locked me away for a  _year_ ," Anders said, voice rising with anger, "Alone, in the darkness, sitting in my own filth, given a bowl of gruel once a day, with only my thoughts and the rats for company.  You have no idea-" he began to tremble, slightly, "what it's like to not see the sun, or the face of another person, or to hear any voice but your own for a  _year_ -"

Fenris felt some part of himself respond in reluctant sympathy.  "Mage-" he began-

Anders interrupted him, eyes showing a hint of blue.  "And for  _what?_   Because I was young and foolish and wanted to run in the fields again?  Because I wanted to be among people who smiled and worked and held festivals and talked of simple things like harvests and families and the bleeding _weather?_   To not be watched every second of every day as if you're a curse inflicted on mankind?"

*****************************************************************

Fenris snarled.  "And do you suppose it is  _fair_ ," he enunciated, "that the bulk of the population of Tevinter lives in fear of a few handfuls of mages, magisters who buy and sell you and your family as if you were cattle, to be used, abused, bred, sacrificed, to see children bled to death to feed magical amusements, to have your meals denied, to be hounded incessantly, whipped, tortured at the whim of one whose only merit is that they possess magic?"

"The one does not justify the other!" Anders burst out.  "The mages here are  _not_  what you saw in Tevinter, Fenris-"

"The moment they are free, mages will make themselves magisters," Fenris replied darkly.  

Anders raked a hand through his hair in frustration, pushing Justice back with supreme force of will.  "And this is what you truly think of mages- what you think of  _me_?"  He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice.

Fenris hesitated.  "I-"  he stopped.  "I do not know," he replied, truthfully.

"Well let me know when you figure it out," Anders snapped, tearing the pages out of the warrior's grasp.  " _Hawke_  asked to read this, and I'm going to leave it for him."  He stalked out of the entryway, and Fenris heard his angry strides as he stomped through the main room and up the staircase.

Slowly, he followed.

He found Anders in Hawke's bedroom, straightening and reordering the pages, lips tight with anger.  He gave no acknowledgement of Fenris' presence.  

After a few uncomfortable moments Fenris gathered himself and spoke.  "I... owe you an apology."

A bit of the stiffness went out of Anders' shoulders.  "Oh?" he replied, neutrally.

"You and I don't always see eye-to-eye-" he began, and Anders snorted.

Fenris gritted his teeth.

"Oh, please, go on," Anders said, his voice now tinged with amusement.

"That doesn't mean you deserve my anger," Fenris admitted.

"I'm sure I deserve it  _sometimes_ ," Anders replied, tucking the papers back into order before setting them on the desk.  "Anyone at the Circle could've told you that I can be a bit of a prat."

Fenris turned around to stare broodily into Hawke's fireplace.  "I've never done this before, you know," he admitted.

"What, had an unbelievably gorgeous apostate at your beck and call?"  Warm arms circled his waist from behind.  "Experienced the glory of finely controlled lightning magic four times in one night?  Made another man beg when you-"

Fenris shifted slightly in the mage's embrace.  "I've never had a lover of my own choosing," he said, bluntly, and the voice behind him was abruptly silenced.

They stood, quietly, listening to the cracks and pops of the fire.

"I shouldn't like you," he continued, at last, "You're everything I've learned to hate.  And yet I find myself powerless to resist your spell."

He felt the mage's body shake with faint laughter behind him.  "Only a gorgeous idiot like yourself would think that simple, gutwrenching, toe-tingling lust was a spell. You  _like_  me- admit it."

"I admit nothing," the elf said, smugly.

"Oooh, a challenge," came the whisper in his ear.  "So tell me, do you hate- this?"

Fenris shivered as warm breath feathered in his ear.

"Or- this?"

He couldn't control the soft moan that escaped when a wet tongue ran delicately along the pointed shell of his ear, tracing it to the very tip.

"I can see that you hate that quite a  _lot_ , don't you?" the voice purred in his ear, and Fenris gave himself up to it, sagging bonelessly against the mage's chest.

"Or this," the mage whispered, a hand at his waist moving down to cup the rapidly growing hardness in his leggings, smoothing index finger and thumb over the shaft, a single tingling pulse of magic making the elf jump and gasp something indecipherable in Arcanum.

"Sorry, what was that?"  Anders said, teasingly.

"I said-" Fenris let out a shuddering breath as the mage did it again- "You will be the death of me."

A low chuckle sounded in his ear.  "Well, there are worse ways to go, hm?"

************************************************************

"Anders-" he bit out- "This isn't-" when the lips travelled teasingly back up his ear he let out a strangled groan.  "We're in  _Hawke's_  house-"

"There  _is_  a bed right over there," the mage replied, coyly, and Fenris nearly bit through his tongue when a warm hand slipped into his leggings.

Minutes later they'd managed to shed armor, weapons, and clothing, and when Fenris pulled Anders onto the bed, limbs tangling, the mage couldn't help the soft groan that escaped.

"Maker, Fenris," he said, pushing the elf back to look at him, to run greedy eyes and hands over that lean, muscled body, the softly glowing tattoos following the curves of his muscles, winding down the sides of his hips, down tanned legs to curl around the toughened soles of his feet, "You are  _so_ bloody beautiful."

Fenris said nothing in reply, simply pulling the mage to him, mouth lapping and sucking at the flat disk of a nipple while Anders ran his hands up the elf's torso.  

When the elf pushed him on his back, Anders meekly submitted, closing his eyes to enjoy the mouth that wandered from one nipple to another before dragging a series of open-mouthed kisses down his chest and along his stomach.  

His hands gripped the blankets, scrabbling for purchase when that same warm mouth closed over the head of his cock, moving far more gently than the elf had ever done before, as if he were savoring the feel of Anders' prick in his mouth.  When the elf moved cautiously to take him deeper, struggling against the automatic reflex, Anders put an arm over his eyes, his other hand moving to smooth through strands of silver hair, fingers running along one pointed elvhen ear.

"Oh  _Maker_ , Fenris,  _yes_ ," he gasped.

After a few moments of the exquisite torture, Anders tugged gently on a lock of silver hair.  The elf raised his head to look at the mage, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire.  "Hn?" came the low, inquisitive sound.

"Come here," Anders whispered, and within moments he had the elf positioned where he wanted him, knees on either side of Anders' head.  Anders pulled that beautiful cock into his mouth, years of practice allowing him take the elf completely.  The elf stilled, his gasped cry loud in the quiet, and if Anders' mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, he'd have grinned in satisfaction.  Smoothing his hands along the elf's sides, he brought them up to squeeze at those deliciously flexed buttocks, and with light pressure encouraged Fenris to move.

"A-Anders," came the choked reply, as the elf began to thrust slowly, carefully down the mage's throat.  Anders crooked the side of his mouth in a not-quite smile to break the seal his mouth had created, and focused on falling into a rhythm of breathing with the elf's upstrokes.

Fenris couldn't hold back his gutteral cries of pleasure as he thrust, faster, buttocks flexing in Anders hands, urging him on, and when that cock stiffened suddenly in his throat, surging, balls contracting, Anders pulled him in tightly and  _swallowed_ -

The elf let out a howl that was almost pain as he arched, mouth open in a rictus of pleasure as he spent himself in the mage's throat.

He knelt, shaking with aftermath for a few moments before the mage gently released him, a single teasing lick to the balls making him jerk and gasp in overstimulated response.  Fenris moved to Anders' side, collapsing bonelessly, tilting his head to look at the smug expression on the other man's face.  He wrapped on hand lazily around the mage's cock and felt him shiver, stroking gently as he found his voice.

"What-" he cleared his throat- "was that?"

"You liked?"  Anders grinned.  "Not  _all_  of my talents are magical, you know."

Fenris shook his head.  He'd never win a verbal battle with this one.  "I believe you said something once about showing my- appreciation," he said, lazily, and the mage twitched in his hand.  "For that I grant you the boon of your choice, mage."

*****************************************************************

Anders eyes widened slightly before he replied, slyly, "Be careful what you offer, elf."

"I'm feeling magnanimous," Fenris replied, smoothing his other hand along the mage's belly, playing idly with the soft trail of red-gold hair that led from his stomach downward, and waited.

"I'd like to be inside you," Anders said, quietly, and the elf stilled.

Anders bit his lip.  It didn't take magic to read body language in such an intimate moment.  "If you 'd rather not-"

The elf shook his head, slowly.  "I'd rather have a pleasant memory of such things," he said, and both of them understood what went unsaid in the silence.

Anders pulled the elf to him and kissed him, gently, running light fingers soothingly in circles along his back.  When Fenris relaxed, pushing into the gentle press of his fingers with a low hum of pleasure, Anders pressed another soft kiss to his lips before laying the elf gently on his belly, moving to kneel beside him.  He  _focused_  for a moment, and Fenris' markings glowed slightly with the pulse of the Fade, pulling a startled "Nn?" from the elf before Anders began to spread the summoned oil over Fenris's back, massaging in smooth, gentle motions.

"Why am I not surprised that mages have a spell for  _that_ ," Fenris said, eyes closed in pleasure.

"Well, you know, making your enemies slip in the heat of battle, setting it on fire, all of that," Anders replied, smoothing a hand along one slim shoulderblade.

"And why is it that I've never seen you perform such a feat, mage?" came the amused reply.

"-Because that's just the excuse we give for having such a spell in the first place?" Anders hazarded, rewarded by a faint smirk on the elf's lips.

He bent down to whisper in one pointed ear, "Shall I tell Isabela you glisten for me?" Anders began to smooth oil over the elf's tanned buttocks, enjoying the tiny dimples at the sides of each adorable cheek.

"Do it and you won't be able to sit down for a week," Fenris replied, and Anders' mouth went dry.

"Quite possibly worth it," he whispered, easing one slicked finger into the elf.

He waited until the faint crease in the elf's brow disappeared, moving his finger slowly and gently in a circle, inside, before adding a second.  

When he moved to kneel between the elf's legs, he felt him tense, and rubbing long, gentle circles along Fenris' back, he waited.  "You feel amazing," he said, and it was true- the thought of that tight, wet heat around him was making him lightheaded.

He crooked his fingers down, pressing towards the elf's belly, and when he felt the slight dip and then the roundish swell he was rewarded as Fenris shivered and gasped in surprise.

Anders continued his slow, gentle movements, and once the elf was sufficently relaxed he pulled his fingers out, smoothing an oiled hand over his cock before tugging Fenris to his knees.

He began to press himself slowly into the warrior, letting out a small, soft whimper as the elf's muscles relaxed, gradually allowing him inside, and as he eased inch by tortured inch into that tight, tight warmth it was all he could do to hold onto his rapidly fraying control.

Fenris was making small, soft sounds, and Anders knew him well enough by now to recognize them as pleasure rather than distress.  He asked, anyway, more for the pleasure of hearing that voice- "Is it-" he panted- "all right?"

"Don't stop," came the nearly whispered reply, and Anders acquiesced, beginning a slow rhythm, short, slow thrusts as he enjoyed the feel of being fully inside the elf.  He began to move more quickly, and when the elf pushed  _back_  against him, he moaned between gritted teeth.  "Fenris-" he said, sweat beading on his forehead, "I'm not going to last-"

They sped up the pace, moving in concert, moans and cries of pleasure mingling in the air, and Anders could feel himself tightening, building-

And then he was letting go with long, low cries of pleasure, thrusting into Fenris as deeply as he could as he spent himself.

*****************************************************************

Warm with afterglow, Anders curled up against Fenris, wrapping an arm around his waist and throwing one leg possessively over the warrior.

"I think I'll keep you, elf," he said, sleepily, and felt Fenris shake with faint laughter.  

"I believe I'll let you, mage," came the relaxed reply.

They fell asleep, wrapped in the blankets and each other.

Anders furrowed his brow, faintly- the Templars were tromping noisily down the hall again- didn't those bastards know it was far too early for anyone to be running around in plate, making all that racket-

His eyes snapped open as he realized, like a bucket of icy water, that he wasn't in the Circle, and those weren't Templars-

"Hawke, are you in here?" came the voice, and then the door was  _opening_ , and Anders let out an unmanly squeak, hastily pulling the blankets to cover himself and the groggy elf.

Varric and Sebastian got two feet through the door before they realized what was going on and stopped dead in their tracks.

"What-" came Isabela's voice from behind them, and then Merrill let out an undignified "Oh, my."

Varric was grinning from ear to ear while Sebastian turned a particularly mottled, violent shade of red before bolting from the room with a choked " _Maker_ -"

Merrill attempted to keep things civil.  "Oh, hello, Anders, Fenris," she chirped, far too brightly, "We were just looking for Hawke."

"As you can see," Fenris gritted out, holding the blanket to his waist, "He isn't here."

Isabela was smirking, openly.  "So you  _do_  glisten," she said to Fenris, before her gaze moved to the floor.  "And red, I see," she continued smoothly, as Anders turned a laugh into a cough.

Fenris turned to glare at him.  

"What?" Anders replied, "There aren't many doors in the Circle Tower.  I hate to say it, but it's not the first time I've been walked in on."

"In the bed of an uninvolved third party," Fenris qualified, and Anders nodded.  "Not the first time, sadly."

Varric was scribbling furiously, having pulled a pair of tiny spectacles from his coat and-

"Hey!" Anders yelped, tugging the blanket away and stumbling towards the dwarf.  "Are you writing on the back of my manifesto?"

Fenris turned a deeper shade of red and yanked a sheet to cover what the loss of the blanket had bared, and Isabela's smile widened further.

"Mama Isabela  _likes_ ," she purred, immune to his furious glare.

"Give that back-" Anders was trying to rescue his page from the uncooperative dwarf, hampered by his attempts to hold the blanket around his waist.

Varric turned his back on the mage, saying absently, "Sorry, Blondie, no can do, when inspiration strikes, you know, I'm sure you understand-"

"For a week, mage, for a  _week_ ," came the strangled threat from the bed, and Anders froze, unsure of whether to be excited or afraid.

"Well," Merrill said, "Isn't this nice."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the stunning, sweeping conclusion. :D
> 
> I laughed uncontrollably while writing this.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

Anders looked from the dwarf who was currently bent on defacing his masterpiece to the elf who was glowering at him from Hawke's bed.  And as excited as he was at the prospect of Fenris' growled promise (' _for a week_ ' echoed in his head, and Anders felt his knees give, just a little) those emerald eyes were demanding that he  _do_  something, and do it  _right now_.

"Look," he said, pleadingly to the room at large, "Can you give us a minute to get ourselves together?  We're all very good friends, I know, but being naked in front of a room full of otherwise clothed people is a bit awkward."

"Mmm," said Isabela, pausing in her perusal of Fenris to run approving eyes over Anders- "say 'naked' again."

"If I say it, will you please  _get out_?" Anders asked, desperately.   _One week_  was all well and good, but  _two weeks_  was taking things a bit far, and from the strangled noises the elf was making, he was rapidly being pushed towards the  _two weeks_  mark.

"I will if you say it, Sweet Thing," Isabela purred, and Anders rolled his eyes.

"Naaaaaked," he said, rolling the word in his mouth like a particularly delicious sweet.

Isabela shivered, just a bit, then sighed.  "A deal's a deal," she said regretfully, and with one last, lingering look towards Hawke's bed she pulled Merrill out with her.

"Varric," Anders said pointedly.

"Hm- what?"  Varric looked up from his frantic scribblings.  "What, Blondie?"

"Get out," Anders said in a pained voice.  " _Please_."

The dwarf rolled his eyes and walked out, whistling, and as the door closed behind him, Anders breathed a sigh of relief.

Fenris climbed quickly out of the bed, pulling his clothing and armor on with swift, practiced movements.

Anders followed suit, pulling his tunic, breeches, boots and undercoat on.  The awkward silence stretched between them, nearly palpable.

Fenris, predictably, dressed much more quickly, and without another word he turned and walked out the door.  Anders yelped as he pulled his last boot on, not pausing to tie it as he stumbled after the warrior.  "Fenris!" he called, "wait!"

****************************************************************

Isabela waited a good five minutes to be sure they weren't coming back before she pulled Merrill back into Hawke's room.  She let go of the elf's hand and jumped with a girlish squeal into the bed, rolling around in the bedsheets.

Merrill watched her, eyes wide with surprise.

"What are you doing, Isabela?" she asked, curiously.

"Oh, Maker's  _balls_ , Merrill," Isabela said, rolling in the sheets, "Fenris and Anders had  _sex_  in  _this_  bed."  She buried her head in the pillow and let out a long, soft moan.

"It even  _smells_  like them," she said, gleefully.

Merrill pouted, just a little.  "Are you saying you'd rather smell them than me," she said indignantly.

Isabela rolled over to give Merrill the Look.  "Come here, you sexy kitten," she purred.

Merrill sat hesitantly down on the bed and squealed when Isabela pulled her down for a toe-curling kiss.  "That's better," she gasped, when they came up for air.

Isabela rolled around on the bed, letting her head hang off the edge, hair dangling nearly to the ground.  Then her eyes narrowed, speculatively, and she rolled over, surprising Merrill as she hopped off the bed to pick something up-

When she looked at Merrill, a wicked grin on her face, and Anders' feathered half-coat in hand, the elf bit her lip.  

When Isabela got  _that_  Look in her eye, it usually meant trouble.  "What?" Merrill asked, timidly.

"Want to play a game, kitten?" she asked, slyly.

*****************************************************************

Sebastian waited a good five minutes to be sure Isabela and Merrill weren't coming back before slinking into Hawke's room, carrying his lady in his arms.  He knew it was wrong, and Maker forgive him, he'd tried, but she was impossible to resist.

"Why can't I quit you?" he said in his tortured brogue, running his hand haphazardly through his slicked-back hair.  His beautiful lady remained silent.

A few drinks at the Hanged Man, a wee dram of the mixture he'd used in other, wilder times, and the dwarf had been quickly out for the count, dead to the world as he'd spirited his lady away.

"I couldna resist," he said, conversationally, pulling off his armor piece by piece, regarding her steadily as she lay on the bed.  "It's been a long time since I've seen such goings-on, and the two of them-" he licked his lips.

"Not that they could ever hold a candle to you," he said, hastily.  "But you were here too- I'm telling you nothing you didna already know."

Once he was naked, he lay next to her on the bed, inhaling the scent of musk and sex, impossibly hard and  _oh, Maker_ , he was ready for her.

Taking himself in hand, he began to stroke, cradling her lovingly in his other arm.

"Bianca," he whispered, "You beautiful, naughty minx, you."

*****************************************************************

Garrett Hawke climbed stiffly out of his wardrobe, hearing a few tired joints  _pop_  as he bent and stretched cramped muscles.  He'd quickly realized he was completely unnecessary at the training session earlier, Aveline and Rand striking fear into the hearts of screaming recruits without a single thrown dagger or tossed smoke-bomb on his part.  Disappointing, really.  He'd climbed up his trellis and come in through his window to avoid Orana- better if everyone thought him out of the house, else he'd never get any peace.

He'd climbed into the wardrobe out of long habit- it was his favorite Thinking Space, and what was better, no one could bother the Champion of Kirkwall with letters or petitions or teas with blushing noble daughters if they couldn't  _find_  him.

He'd been more than a little surprised when Fenris and Anders had barged into his room, and although their little romance had warmed his heart he'd nearly had a heart attack when they'd crawled into his bed.

 _Maker, a man can only take so much._

He'd peeped through the cracked door of the wardrobe and wondered if he dared risk wanking, but the thought of elvhen wrath should he be discovered kept him still and quiet.  Even so, they'd given him plenty of wanktastic material for nights upon nights to come.

He'd nearly laughed aloud when everyone had barged into the room- Fenris and Anders' reactions had been  _priceless_  and Garrett wished there was some way to record the moment like an insect in amber, to pull out and admire at his leisure.

He'd waited a good five minutes before he'd decided it was finally safe to come out, but just as he'd begun to move, Merrill and Isabela had snuck back in, and the hijinks the two of them got up to had him stifling mad laughter and wondering for a second time, somewhat desperately, if he dared to wank.

When they'd left he'd waited a good five minutes before he'd decided it was finally,  _finally_  safe to leave the wardrobe, and just as he'd gotten ready to move (and he was  _definitely_  wanking after this) Sebastian had snuck guiltily in, with- Garrett goggled- Varric's crossbow?

As he'd listened to the Chantry Boy's protestations of love, watched him bring himself to guilty ecstasy, crossbow in hand, Garrett had been torn between wanting some sort of memory bleach that would wipe the moment from his brain forever and wondering in a sort of frenzied madness for a third time if he dared to wank.  

When Sebastian finally dressed himself and left, pressing one last sweet kiss to the stock of the crossbow, Garrett waited  _ten_  minutes just to be _damned_  sure that no one else was coming to have sex in his bed, and as soon as he was out he'd crossed to the door and locked it.  

 _If anyone else has sex in this bed tonight, it's going to be me,_  he resolved firmly.

****************************************************************

 _Several days later-_

Garrett steepled his fingers, looking at the stubbled apostate standing before him.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you to come here," he said.

Anders nodded in response.  "Your note was  _rather_  vague," he answered.

"A few nights ago you dropped off your manifesto for me to read," Garrett said casually, and watched Anders jump, guiltily before mustering what Garrett  _assumed_  was his poker face.

The man was  _terrible_  at cards.

"I happened to notice the first page seemed to be missing," he continued, "and I found a few of your coat feathers in my sheets."

Anders squirmed.  "Did you-" he paused, biting his lip, "Did you happen to find my coat?  I seem to have- misplaced it."

Garrett shook his head, innocently.  "Haven't seen it.  But I what with the mussed bed and missing page, I just wondered if there's anything you'd like to  _tell_  me, Anders," he continued, smoothly, and watched a slow flush travel up the apostate's neck.

"N-no, Garrett," Anders said, "I don't recall anything out of the ordinary that night."

"Won't you sit down, Anders?" Garrett said solicitiously, and watched the mage jump and grimace.

Anders flashed back, for just a moment-

 _"And that is for pulling the blanket off-" SMACK.  "This is for daring to mention former lovers in my presence." SMACK._

And when Anders had been writhing and moaning, struggling against the elf's iron grip, his buttocks a flaming, cherry red, the elf had bent down and whispered, ominously, " _And don't you_  dare  _heal yourself, mage- I want you to remember this, and me, every time you sit for the next week."_

"No, thank you, Garrett," Anders said, hastily, coming back to the present, "I really should get back to the clinic.  Let me know if you find my coat, won't you?"

As Garrett watched him flee, some dark, wicked part of him cackled mercilessly, and he smirked knowingly into his beard.  He couldn't  _wait_  to tell Jethann about this.

The End.  <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Before This Gets Old](https://archiveofourown.org/works/728086) by [zillah1199](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199)




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